Intermittent Fasting: How I Took Back My Health After 60 with Intermittent Fasting

 

How I Took Back My Health After 60 with Intermittent Fasting

For much of my adult life, I maintained a relatively steady weight. I hovered around 12 and a half stones—about 80 kilos—for years. At six feet tall, that felt just right. Not skinny, not overweight—just comfortable. I could wear what I liked, move around freely, and never gave much thought to weight or dieting.

But things started to shift when I hit my 40s. It wasn’t sudden—nothing dramatic—but the change was steady and persistent. A pound here, a couple of pounds there. I chalked it up to aging, maybe a slowing metabolism, maybe just life catching up with me. After all, we all slow down a bit, don’t we?

By the time I reached my 60s, the scale told a truth I had been trying to ignore: I weighed 16 stones—about 101 kilos. That’s a gain of over 20 kilos in as many years. To some, that might not sound catastrophic, especially for someone my height. I could still carry myself well enough. But mirrors don’t lie. And neither do clothes.

Belts that once fit snugly now felt tight. My shirts strained at the buttons. Trousers that had once been loose-fitting were now snug. I kept telling myself I was just “filling out” a bit. But the truth was, I wasn’t just filling out—I was slipping into a lifestyle that quietly, steadily diminished my energy, my self-esteem, and my sense of control over my own body.

The Wake-Up Call

January rolled around, and like many, I found myself scrolling through social media during a quiet evening at home. That’s when I stumbled on a post about intermittent fasting. It wasn’t a sponsored ad or some shiny fitness influencer trying to sell me a supplement. It was just a regular person sharing their journey. They were talking about something called the 16:8 method—16 hours of fasting, 8 hours of eating.

It sounded…simple. Almost too simple. You fast for 16 hours, but 8 of those hours are when you're asleep. The idea was to skip breakfast and delay your first meal until early afternoon, around 2 p.m. Eat sensibly within that 8-hour window, then stop. No pills, no meal replacements, no calorie counting. Just time-based eating.

Something clicked in me. Maybe it was the new year, maybe I was just fed up of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. Either way, I decided: Why not?

Day One: No Breakfast, No Drama

The next morning, I woke up and—on a complete whim—decided not to eat. I had my usual cup of black coffee (which doesn’t break a fast, apparently) and went about my morning. I expected hunger pangs, maybe even dizziness. But to my surprise, nothing. I felt completely fine.

For much of my adult life, I maintained a relatively steady weight. I hovered around 12 and a half stones—about 80 kilos—for years. At six feet tall, that felt just right. Not skinny, not overweight—just comfortable. I could wear what I liked, move around freely, and never gave much thought to weight or dieting.

But things started to shift when I hit my 40s. It wasn’t sudden—nothing dramatic—but the change was steady and persistent. A pound here, a couple of pounds there. I chalked it up to aging, maybe a slowing metabolism, maybe just life catching up with me. After all, we all slow down a bit, don’t we?

By the time I reached my 60s, the scale told a truth I had been trying to ignore: I weighed 16 stones—about 101 kilos. That’s a gain of over 20 kilos in as many years. To some, that might not sound catastrophic, especially for someone my height. I could still carry myself well enough. But mirrors don’t lie. And neither do clothes.

Belts that once fit snugly now felt tight. My shirts strained at the buttons. Trousers that had once been loose-fitting were now snug. I kept telling myself I was just “filling out” a bit. But the truth was, I wasn’t just filling out—I was slipping into a lifestyle that quietly, steadily diminished my energy, my self-esteem, and my sense of control over my own body.

The Wake-Up Call

January rolled around, and like many, I found myself scrolling through social media during a quiet evening at home. That’s when I stumbled on a post about intermittent fasting. It wasn’t a sponsored ad or some shiny fitness influencer trying to sell me a supplement. It was just a regular person sharing their journey. They were talking about something called the 16:8 method—16 hours of fasting, 8 hours of eating.

It sounded…simple. Almost too simple. You fast for 16 hours, but 8 of those hours are when you're asleep. The idea was to skip breakfast and delay your first meal until early afternoon, around 2 p.m. Eat sensibly within that 8-hour window, then stop. No pills, no meal replacements, no calorie counting. Just time-based eating.

Something clicked in me. Maybe it was the new year, maybe I was just fed up of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. Either way, I decided: Why not?

Day One: No Breakfast, No Drama

The next morning, I woke up and—on a complete whim—decided not to eat. I had my usual cup of black coffee (which doesn’t break a fast, apparently) and went about my morning. I expected hunger pangs, maybe even dizziness. But to my surprise, nothing. I felt completely fine.

I didn’t eat until around 2 p.m. And even then, I wasn’t ravenous. I just made myself a normal lunch, had dinner later in the evening, and that was it. No snacking, no bedtime biscuits.

By the end of the first day, I felt lighter. Not physically, perhaps, but mentally. Like I had just made a decision that gave me back some control.

The First Week: Shockingly Doable

I continued the 16:8 routine for the rest of the week. And again, it was…weirdly easy. I wasn’t starving in the mornings. In fact, my energy felt more stable than usual. I didn’t experience the typical post-lunch crash. And even more shocking—I wasn’t craving sweets or snacks.

I stuck to my 8-hour eating window. I didn’t go wild with food, but I didn’t restrict myself either. I ate what I normally would—just within a set time. That simple change felt more like a habit shift than a diet.

By the end of the first week, I couldn’t wait to get on the scale. I stepped on with equal parts excitement and skepticism. Had it actually made a difference?

The Numbers Start to Move

To my astonishment, I had lost nearly four pounds in the first week alone. I double-checked. Then I checked again. The number was real.

Now, I know the first week of any lifestyle change can sometimes yield dramatic results. Water weight, shifts in glycogen storage, all that. But still—it was encouraging. It was the first tangible sign in years that my weight was headed in the right direction.

More importantly, I felt better. My trousers weren’t cutting into my waist. I felt lighter on my feet. My sleep improved. And perhaps most telling of all—I began to feel proud of myself again.

Momentum Builds

Week after week, I stuck with it. Sure, there were days when the temptation to eat a mid-morning croissant was strong. But I kept thinking back to how far I’d come. I reminded myself of how I felt at 16 stones—heavy, sluggish, and out of control.

Slowly but surely, the weight began to come off. One pound at a time. Some weeks were better than others, but the overall trend was downward.

By the third month, I was down nearly a stone. The difference was undeniable. Friends started noticing. My clothes fit more comfortably. I caught myself in the mirror and didn’t wince.

And maybe the most surprising part? I wasn’t just doing it for the weight anymore. I started to enjoy the fast. It gave me a sense of discipline I hadn’t felt in years. It cleared up mental fog. It simplified my mornings. No breakfast prep, no clean-up—just coffee, a bit of quiet time, and a chance to ease into the day.

More Than Just Weight Loss

People often assume that weight loss is about vanity. And sure, part of it is wanting to look better. But this journey wasn’t about abs or beach bodies. It was about reclaiming agency over my health.

For too long, I let aging feel like an inevitable decline. I told myself that weight gain, fatigue, and low energy were just part of getting older. But intermittent fasting showed me otherwise.

I didn’t need expensive programs or miracle cures. I just needed a strategy that fit my life, my preferences, my rhythm. And intermittent fasting turned out to be just that.

A Sustainable Lifestyle

Now, several months in, I’ve made intermittent fasting a part of my life. Not a phase. Not a crash diet. A genuine lifestyle shift. I still allow myself the occasional treat. I still enjoy meals with family and friends. But I’ve built in a routine that works with me, not against me.

I’m still on the journey. My goal weight? I don’t really have one anymore. I just want to feel good, stay active, and age with vitality and confidence. If the scale continues to move, great. But if it doesn’t? I’ve still won.

Final Thoughts

If you’re in your 50s or 60s—or beyond—and you’ve convinced yourself that weight loss is no longer possible, I’m here to tell you: It is. It’s not about punishing yourself or chasing perfection. It’s about finding something that works for you—something sustainable, manageable, and rooted in self-respect.

Intermittent fasting gave me back control, confidence, and clarity. And all it took to start was skipping breakfast.

Who knew?